old & bitter

A wooden table stood between them. It was a rather clear autumn day, the Sun was shining and there were few clouds to be seen. It was a fresh day too, like autumn days ought to be in this part of the world, with a light breeze blowing here and there every once in a while. They sat on opposite sides of the table, looking at the horizon, looking at nothing in particular, looking at the mountains not yet covered in snow, but somehow quite white already.

A soft breeze came by, disheveling hair and stirring steam as it blew, and then left, leaving a slightly refreshing feeling on its way. Two steaming cups of coffee stood on a wooden table. This was the common ground. He liked his coffee with milk and sugar; she liked hers black.

--You know? I really don't want to grow up to be a bitter old woman--She told him out of the blue.

--Huh? Why would you be a bitter old woman?

--Oh, it's just... Well, it's kind of normal, isn't it? You grow up, and suddenly you don't agree with how people live and such, and then all you know is you're all bitter and complaining about everything the whole time

--Why? Wha... Ok. Ok... Maybe you're right. But I dunno. I won't be like that ever. I just won't.

--How can you say that? How do you know? And, anyway, I was talking about me.

--Well, don't you go worrying about that... I'll be there to help avoid you turning a bitter old witch.

--Awww, that's nice of you, thanks.

Another light breeze passed by, she took her cup to her mouth, sipped her coffee and, after noticing it was already getting cold, said in a rather bitter voice:


To which he just giggled.



Anonymous said...

In whom you were thinking while you write this?